The Story of Blaise Zabini

Chapter 2

Next Stop: London, England......

The minute I stepped on the plane from New York to London, I started panicking. After all, my grandma wasn't exactly young anymore; what if I came back and she wasn't there? If that happened, I don't know what I'd do; probably refuse to go back to Hogwarts. But I do know one thing - at her funeral, whenever that might be, my tears won't be fake; every single one of them will be real and I'll mean them.

On the plane, I was sat next to some fat dude who ate like a pig and drank like a fish, and a thin red haired woman who asked me kindly, why I was going to England. Since I could hardly tell her about Hogwarts, I said it was to visit a relative of mine in hospital. The woman tutted sympathetically, and then contented herself with reading a big, thick paperback novel through the rest of the flight.

I must have slept somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, because the next thing I knew, a smiling air stewardess was tapping me lightly on the arm and offering me a tray of food.

I didn't realise how hungry I was until then and I peeled back the lid of the biggest container and began eating. It wasn't the most appetising of dishes, but it was enough to keep hunger at bay.

I didn't stay awake long enough to watch the in-flight movie, and when I woke up a second time, the pilot was informing the passengers that we were about to land in London.

"And, Ladies and Gentlemen," he said over the intercom, "don't forget to set your watches to 8:00pm. Thank you and I hope you've had a comfortable flight."

I couldn't sit still; I almost punched the fat bastard next to me because he couldn't be bothered to move so I could look out the window.

As the plane descended, my ears hurt like hell but I didn't care; it was worth it just to finally be flying above London.

When I disembarked, I couldn't help but gaze around me in awe, and listen to the weird accent. I couldn't believe how big Heathrow airport was; if I didn't know where I was going I could've gotten lost. But thankfully, a friendly tour guide was herding us towards the check-in point, or whatever it is.

When the woman behind the passport desk had checked my passport, and I went into the waiting area, I started panicking. I was supposed to meet someone there, but there were so many people, I didn't know where to go.

Then woman with blonde hair to her shoulders came over to me.

"Blaise Zabini?" she asked briskly. I nodded, startled, as she held her hand out for me to shake.

"Isabelle Kensington. Call me Izzy," she said, running a critical eye over my probably travel worn appearance. "My husband, George, is in the car."

She turned, signalled to a porter and had my suitcases put on a trolley. We walked out of the airport, and I found out that there was more to Isabelle Kensington and her husband than I had originally thought.

We pulled up outside a long black limousine with tinted windows, so I couldn't see inside. A guy in a black suit opened the door for Izzy and me.

Inside was a man with dark hair and a benign smile on his face. "Blaise, I presume?" he said nodding to me.

"George, I presume?" I said, mimicking his upper class manner. His smile widened and he gave a small laugh.

"Just like her father," I heard him mutter to his wife, who nodded back at him, a faint smile playing about her lips. But I pretended I hadn't heard, and sat back in the soft leather seat.

On the ride to ... wherever we were going, George and Izzy bombarded me with questions about my life in America and living with my mother. I wanted to hate them, but I couldn't; they were far too nice for that. Whenever I tried being sarcastic and stupid, they'd laugh lightly and give me a look that made me answer them seriously. Then one question took me by surprise; Izzy asked me what my mother was like, and the words spilled from my mouth before I could stop them.

"My mom was a bitch," I replied venomously, and they seemed so shocked that I could talk about her that way. "And let's face it, my dad was never there. So really, both my parents have been failures."

"Maybe your father wanted to see you," Izzy protested, but I shook my head.

"If he wanted to see me badly enough," I said heatedly, "he could have at least called me, or visited sometime."

The Kensingtons didn't scold me for talking about my parents, but I could tell it was only from courtesy.

While we talked, we'd pulled up to a large, sinister mansion, about the size of a small castle. The driver got out from the front of the limo and opened the door for me and the Kensingtons.

I stood in awe, staring up at this mansion. The turrets and balconies made it look like something out of a medieval fairytale. There was a shadowy feel to it; like there it held a thousand different unsolved secrets in its corridors.

Noticing the look on my face, Izzy put a comforting hand on my shoulder and gently pushed me after George, who had already walked through the tall, dark oak doors, held open by a man who could only have been a butler.

Then followed a tour all around the house. Izzy and George loved to entertain people apparently, so most of the rooms I saw were for parties.

On the second floor there were libraries and studies, living rooms, and rooms filled with priceless antiques and paintings. I wandered around them, fascinated. I love art, you see, at my primary school, I was the best drawer in my class, and when we had art classes I used to feel completely at ease. There was no one glaring at me from across the classroom, there was only me and my drawing or painting. I used to get completely lost in it.

Then on the third floor - yes the third floor, it's a big mansion - there were the bedrooms. Some had gigantic four poster beds in them, with heavy velvet curtains; others had large, modern double beds in stylish colours and furnishings. Then we went into a huge room, a deep blue colour, with pictures of an undersea world hand-painted onto the walls. At one end of the room, in the centre of the wall, there was a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out onto the picturesque grounds. It was really a French window that opened onto a wide balcony; the railings made from stone and decked out with what looked like a miniature garden.

I nearly cried with delight; this room was my favourite by far. The mermaids and dolphins seemed to come alive in the last rays of sunlight, and schools of multicoloured fish made me feel as I really was underwater.

"You can have this as your room, if you want," Izzy said, smiling at my wide-eyed expression as I looked around at the scenes painted on the walls.

"Really?" I breathed. I knew this room was by far the most interesting in the mansion.

"Of course," George nodded, his smile every bit as kind as his wife's. "I'll let the maids know this is your room whenever you're here."

He went out but I barely noticed. Izzy told me a bit about the room while he was gone.

"It was decorated for one of George's ancestors when she was a young girl," she explained. "The little girl was a very imaginative child, as you can probably tell. I think you might like this room better than the rest."

I nodded, although she hadn't asked me if this was true. "I love it." I whispered. "It's so gorgeous; I really don't know what to say."

The sound of a bell rang through the house.

"That means dinner is ready," Izzy explained as I looked around wildly. "Come on, you must be hungry."

I had to agree with that. It seemed like years since the meal on the plane and my stomach rumbled in reminder.

We went down two flights of stairs, before we came to the main dining room.

"We only eat in the biggest one when we have guests," George explained, as I sat down in the high-backed, cushioned dining chairs pulled out for me by Harold, the butler.

The starters came in - some kind of seafood soup that tasted weird but was really nice anyway - and for about fifteen minutes, all that could be heard was the chink of soup spoons against bowls as we ate.

I sat back in my chair when I was finished, as Hilda, the maid, came to take my bowl away.

"Do you guys always eat like this?" I asked, almost laughing.

George grinned. "Not every night," he said. "Only occasionally."

"Good," I said, "because if I ate like this every night, by the time I go to school I won't be able to get through the doors."

George and Izzy laughed heartily, and I couldn't help but smile myself. They were so happy and comfortable with their life together, it was infectious. I was happier just being here, and I didn't really want to leave. Of course, I was curious about Hogwarts, but I figured that could wait for a while.

Once dinner was finished, I was exhausted. I would have liked to explore the house on my own for a while, but I really was too tired.

I yawned but tried to stifle it in case George and Izzy thought they were boring me to sleep.

They noticed and smiled in unison. "I think maybe it's time for some sleep," Izzy said kindly. "It's been an extremely long day."

I stood up and slowly followed them out of the dining room and up two flights of stairs again. By the time I reached my room, I was almost asleep on my feet. I said goodnight to George and Izzy, then went in.

It was dark, since I didn't have the lights on, but the moon shone dimly through the window. I went to it and stared out. The grounds were still and quiet but as beautiful as ever, and I suddenly felt so peaceful, like nothing was wrong and wouldn't be forever.

Sighing, I turned to the bed at the head of the room and sat down on it. When I'd put on my pyjamas, I pulled back the duvet on my bed and laid back against the soft pillows.

Interesting day, I thought sleepily. I wonder what will happen at Hogwarts...